


It Won't Kill You To Say 'I Love You'

by withtheworms



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, I guess???, M/M, Soriel, kustard - Freeform, miserable skeletons being miserable to each other, miserable skeletons being miserable to everyone, one-sided, sad skeleton feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 19:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withtheworms/pseuds/withtheworms
Summary: A series of vignets where Sans methodically and with little-to-no self preservation asks the people nearest and dearest to him why they don't love him (enough).part 1: Sans calls Red out and they proceed to not have a fight and Red is incredibly uncomfortable.part 2: Sans asks Toriel why they broke up.part 3: tbdthis is entirely cathartic sad skeletons.  ymmv.





	1. Red

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Red froze. 

He hadn’t realized Sans was awake. They’d been watching TV together in easy silence for about an hour when Sans had yawned and slumped heavily against him. He’d assumed Sans had dozed off and had relaxed under the warm weight of the other skeleton’s magic, his arm curling casually but comfortably around Sans’s shoulder. 

It was the kind of casual domestic shit he’d never want to be held accountable for, and he felt sick for having been caught.

“Depends what you’re asking.”

Sans shifted slightly, turning not to face Red, but bury himself deeper into the crook between Red’s shoulder and the couch cushions. He was picking at something- a loose thread on the cuff of his sweater- and Red could feel the specific energy around him that indicated he had been agonizing over what he was about to say. 

There was a certain tone that came out when a thought spanned across several resets. 

Red despised it. 

“Why do you never say you love me?”

Red grimaced. On every level he knew that this was coming. It had been hanging between them ever since Sans had first whispered it in the dark several months back. On that occasion Red had said nothing, and Sans hadn’t repeated it since, but it was still out there. At this point, nothing could un-say it. 

Red hated this.

“I mean, outside of when we’re fucking, I guess.”

Without intending to Red had let the silence linger for too long. Sans had decided it was time to dig in and Red wouldn’t be able to shrug this one off, now.

“You don’t have a problem saying it when I’m getting you off.”

“I don’t say I love you when you get me off. I say I love the things you do when you get me off.”

The reply bubbled up too quick for Red to stop it, and by the time he realized what it confirmed it was too late and he’d already wretched the words out. 

Sans’s response was almost painful in its passivity. He twisted around so that he could lay pressed against Red’s side, one hand resting on Red’s chest and gently sliding down to run over his stomach. When Sans acted like this, Red knew he was in entirely over his head. He longed for the explosive outbursts and the shouting and the angry, accusatory language. He wanted the reactions that made _ sense _ to him. Sans’s quiet tolerance and ability to calmly process things Red _ knew _ upset him set Red on edge. He was playing by rules Red didn’t understand, and Sans had made it clear he had no intention of helping him get up to speed.

“Y'know… I know your reality never really taught you how to care, and you’re all fucked up and traumatized because of it, but…” Sans propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Red with an expression that was absolutely indecipherable to the other skeleton. “If you don’t learn how to express your feelings when you feel them, you’re gonna lose the few people you’ve got.”

Red remained frozen in place as Sans clambered off the couch. It was undignified, and they would’ve laughed about it at any other time, but Red was paralyzed and Sans was operating on some level he couldn’t understand. 

“Are you leaving?”

The words rasped out of Red as if he hadn’t spoken in years. 

“No, Sans. I’m getting something to eat,” Sans replied, every bit as relaxed and lethargic as he usually sounded. As if things were fine. As if they weren’t elbow-deep in some emotional conflict Red couldn’t comprehend. 

While he usually bristled under the nickname, he longed for the familiarity of it, now. It felt terrible for Red to hear Sans say his name. _His_ name. Like he was some sort of stranger. 

Sans hesitated in the doorway of the kitchen, his hands momentarily flexing into fists before he unspooled them and relaxed. 

“I dunno what kind of stories you've heard, but real life doesn’t work with me storming out right now," he said, easy and un-accusatory, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Besides...” Sans chuckled, and Red could hear the hollow self-loathing in his laughter as he did. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”


	2. Toriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. This is a series now, I guess. 
> 
> Sans, determined to test every single support in his network, asks Toriel why they broke up.

“But I do love you, Sans.”

They were reading in her sunroom when he asked it. It was surprising how few monsters had rooms like this, actually: glass on all sides with the sun slanting in from above. Sans had always assumed life on the surface would be all skylights and patios and camping out in fields to stargaze… It was ironic; so much effort had been put into reaching the surface, only for a large percentage of the monster population to find the open air and limitless skies an overwhelming concept. 

Burgerpants lived in a basement suite. He’d blocked out his windows. During these cloudless stretches of summer he’d stay inside for days.

Not her, though. Not Tori. She loved the sun, she cherished every phase of the moon, and she adored the neverending sky. 

It was something they had in common.

She was reading a recipe book, and tucked one of her broad fingers in to mark her page as she let it rest in her lap. 

“I tell you that I love you every day. I love you very much, Sans.”

Sans squirmed, feeling the threat of her big, smooth feelings like leviathans lurking under the patient smile on her exterior. 

“But you’re not in love with me.”

She laughed, gentle but not mocking, before she set her book aside entirely. 

“Are you in love with _ me _?”

“I asked you first.”

“Sans.” There was a warning in her tone- not angry, but alerting him to the deep water he was paddling them into. “Do you really want to have this conversation?”

Sans knew he didn’t, he was sure of it, but like all wounds it was impossible to stop himself once he began picking at the scab. 

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.” He wasn’t making eye contact, but he could feel her attention riveted on him. “Maybe I wasn’t-”

“You definitely were not.”

“Not even gonna let me finish, huh?” His smile was pulling too tight. “That’s fair.”

“Sans…” He felt her shift beside him, leaning forward so she could pry his hand out of where he’d twisted it into the loose end of his sleeve. Her hands were so large and warm. Not a shred of her was angry at him, and her patience and calm were nauseating. How could she treat him like this. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

“I love you, Sans,” she said, so freely and honestly it was overwhelming. “I love every part of you. There is nothing about you that I would change.”

“Then why-” 

“Sans…” There was something in her infinite patience that was making him boil. He could _ feel _ her pitying him. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

He could remember- it was hard, his memory had never been good- but he could remember the four months they’d dated. Or maybe it was longer? Seven months? A year? He remembered it had made so much sense- the logical conclusion to things- and he remembered she had been _ so _ happy. He remembered the way she looked when she smiled first thing in the morning; her easy, constant companionship; and her vulnerable moments, the times when her grief rose too high for even her to stand above. He remembered her little gifts, and knowing glances, and the way they’d put their heads together and laugh until it hurt to breathe. He remembered her assurance, constantly, that things were okay, and she wasn’t going anywhere, and he remembered how despite it all he could never truly relax. He remembered how he knew he could never receive her love as deeply and easily as she received his, and he remembered how his feelings were such small drops compared to the deep, overflowing well she had in her to give. 

They never fought, but he remembered how she started making excuses for him, and how slowly her smile began to take on the expression of someone who knew all things were finite. 

And he remembered the day- much like this one- when they’d been sitting together in an easy, comfortable silence, and she’d said, gently and unprompted, that they weren’t going to work. 

He remembered how easily he’d heard himself say “that’s fair. I wouldn’t date me, either.” 

Then it all became a blur.

Now, in the sunroom, in the warm glow of late August (at least… he thought it was August) the silence had stretched out between them for too long. He was lost in thought, but she was patient while she waited for him to find himself. He knew she had just thrown him a lifeline, and he could save himself from all this by responding with a shrug and an easy joke. Then could go back to helping her meal plan for the week. They could be okay. 

“Was I a bad partner?”

Her hand tightened on his, soft fur squeezing his bones gently. 

“Sans,” she was almost admonishing, but not. “You know it was nothing like that.” 

“Then why?”

“Because,” she wasn’t smiling, now. He’d pushed too far, and there was a heavy, reluctant sadness in her tone. “I love you so much, Sans. I always will. But I could never be with someone who refuses to love himself.”

She kissed him, gently, on the side of his head, and then let go of his hand. He sighed, and knew somewhere along the way, too far back and convoluted to ever tease it out, he'd had a chance for this to all go differently, but now it was all fucked up and he could never make it right. He'd had his chance and everything, now, was final. 

They sat together and were quiet, and eventually she resumed reading her book. Easily, and without strain, their conversation resumed, and it was if the moment had never happened. She loved him, and he loved her, and things were easy, and they were okay. 

But there was a wall there, and now that he'd tested it he could see it plainly, and he knew that brick by brick he'd built it himself.

And he'd never felt more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was put here on this earth for soriel that looks perfect on paper but is absolutely doomed to fail because a certain skeleton refuses to go to therapy and Toriel knows she deserves better.
> 
> i like to write sad stuff for fun please don't cancel me.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok but: what if Sans just systematically goes through the list of everyone he knows and asks them why they've never told him he matters to them.


End file.
